


Legacy

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Gen, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brother and sister, huh?  How did that even <i>happen?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> A brief reimagining of SW canon.

Han woke slowly.  It was the first morning in years that he’d had any certainty of surviving, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it.

A droid beeped.

“Don’t take that tone with me, you tincan – ”

Chewie growled something that Han’s brain was too sluggish to translate.  From a slightly greater distance, he caught human voices: Leia’s clear and ringing, Luke’s decorously lowered.

“He did _what?_ ”

“– told you . . . reactor . . . wanted to see . . . expect?”

“I don’t know what I expected.  Maybe that he’d be able to keep himself from chopping your other hand off!  Not _this_.”

They were talking about Darth Vader?  At – he inched an eyelid open – less than a hour past dawn?  Damn Vader and his cosmic powers, anyway.  He managed to ruin Han’s mornings even after he was _dead_.

“– no, he didn’t . . . gave in . . . easy . . . Dark Side – ”

Han gave up and stumbled to his feet.  Two blurs, one dark and one light, turned towards him.  “Uh-uh,” he said, making his way to the cockpit.  “A man’s got to draw the line somewhere.  _No religion before breakfast._ ”

He tried to focus his bleary gaze in their direction.  The dark blur resolved into Luke, already in full Jedi regalia, the white into a flinty-eyed Leia.

“Good morning to you, too,” she said.

Luke only smiled and gestured at the teapot, which obligingly whistled.  “Oh, sorry.  Was that too much religion for you?”

“Don’t make Chewie smack you.  Is there any chocolate left?”

“Luke ran out three months ago,” said Leia.

He looked tragic.  “It’s tea or caf.”

“Caf.”

“I’ll get my tea.”

It was almost exactly like any other morning.  Han watched the princess of Alderaan reach for obscenely priced tea, while water heated itself and dishes settled on the table, and wondered how long it had been since he’d even noticed any of it.

They drank in comfortable silence.  Then C-3PO brought out breakfast, and Han said:

“Brother and sister, huh?  How did that even _happen?_ ”

“Well,” said Leia, “when a man and a woman love each other very much – ”

“We're not sure,” Luke said hastily.  “Obi-Wan didn’t say much about your father, Leia:  just that he was an artist.  Honestly, he didn’t say much about _any_ of it.  He didn’t even tell me our mother’s name.”

“I don’t remember,” said Leia, her brows knitting in concentration.  “I suppose I must have heard it, but I just thought of her as Mama.  I . . . don’t think I saw her very much.  She always had something to do somewhere.”  She gave him an inquisitive look.

“She was a politician, not a Jedi,” replied Luke.  “Obi-Wan did say that much, when I asked.  The Force was with her, a little, but she never got trained.”

“If she wasn’t a Jedi and she didn’t serve in the wars, General Kenobi might not have even met her,” Leia said.  She looked inexplicably pleased.  “He was Papa’s and – and Captain Skywalker’s friend, after all, not Mama’s.  Perhaps he doesn’t _know_ what happened.”

Han’s head spun.  “Wait, wait.  _What?_   I don’t – you mean – hell, there isn’t enough caf in the galaxy for this.”  He poured himself another cup anyway.  “You’re some painter’s daughter, not the King of Alderaan’s?  Then how – ”

“I am not Papa’s natural daughter,” Leia corrected.  “I could remember my original family, a little, so of course I always knew I was adopted.  I thought everyone did.  Moreover, Papa wasn’t the king.  Technically.”

“So, at four years old, or six, or whatever it was, somebody up and decides that you’re going to be adopted by royalty, while Luke goes to kriffing _Tatooine?_ ”  Han stared at them incredulously.  “And your family just went along with it?  What were all these people taking?  Death sticks?”

Luke and Leia exchanged a glance.

“I don’t know for certain,” Luke said finally.  “My father – well, Vader had defected to the Empire by the time I was a year old.  I’m sure Father’s brother seemed an appropriate choice, as well as a safe one.”

“Mother died at around the same time,” Leia added.  “I never saw her family again, so I think they must have, too.  Perhaps there wasn’t anybody _left_ to complain.”

Han frowned.  He was old enough to remember the bloodbath that had accompanied Palpatine’s succession, if only vaguely; one wrong word from their mother-the-politician would have been more than enough to condemn her entire family to death.  And their servants, pets, and droids.

“Damn.  And you’ve got different fathers?  ’Cause I’ve heard about Captain Skywalker – so has everyone who lived through the wars – and somehow _painting_ never came up with the bits about blowing enemy fleets to smithereens and crushing clone armies beneath his heel.”

“Of course we do,” Luke said, his mouth twitching.  “My father was still a Tatooine farmboy when Leia was born.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Hard to imagine your father was _ever_ a Tatooine farmboy.”

“You have _no_ idea,” said Leia.


End file.
